


Mission: Get it Together

by charmedward



Series: Modern AU [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Housemates, Living Together, M/M, Maria the super cat, Modern AU, Modern Era, Mostly Fluff, Nightmares, Sam lives with dorks, Slight Hurt/Comfort, Steve laughs a lot, life changing coffee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 18:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1658174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmedward/pseuds/charmedward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You'll need to have read Mission: Get to Base for this to make sense.</p><p>Bucky wakes up the morning after falling asleep drunk on a stranger's sofa.</p><p>“Sam lost a bet this morning so his punishment is breakfast duty. Don’t worry,” Steve adds, “he deserves it for having no faith in me.”<br/>“I have faith in you.” Sam insists as he washes his hands under the sink.<br/>Rolling his eyes, Steve joins Bucky at the table. Bucky glances down as Steve’s leg bumps his own.<br/>“What,” Bucky wets his lips and looks up at Steve, “What was the bet?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Black, two sugars

Bucky dreams that he’s back in the desert. Gunfire pierces the muggy air and sprinkles the sky with the screams of his unit as they die below him. From his vantage point, Bucky looks through his crosshairs for whoever is shooting at them but all he can see is the men he shared meals with. The heat rising off the ground shimmers in the sunlight, distorting the images he sees. For a moment he swears it’s his parents that he sees dying, not his team mates. He’s screaming something, telling them to run but it’s futile.

It isn’t until every member of his unit dies that Bucky wakes. 

He’s bathed in a cold sweat, head ringing and full of static. Overnight the throw he was curled under has become unbearably stifling. It mimics the heat of his nightmares and for a moment the memories – the real memories of war – come crashing down on him. He can tell he’s on the verge of a panic attack when his throat closes and breathing becomes nearly impossible. Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and digs his nails into his palms. Self-harm wasn’t something he advocates but the pain gave him something to focus on without being overwhelmed. Right as his bitten nails mark his skin he feels something soft at his elbow.

Opening his eyes, Bucky sees the cat from last night on the sofa next to him. She peers up at him appraisingly. With a calculated leap she places herself on his chest and kneads him softly. Within seconds she’s curled up on top of him, beautiful brown eyes lulling closed. Bucky watches, stunned. Thoughts of war and pain dispel from his mind as he reaches out tentatively to scratch the feline’s ears. His face splits into a grin when she rewards him with a purr. 

“That feel good?” he whispers, wincing as his voice comes out raw. He realises he must have been yelling in his sleep again.

Dropping his head back, Bucky looks up at the ceiling and watches the sunlight make its way across the cream paint. He wonders how long it’ll be until someone upstairs wakes up, if he hadn’t already woken them with his screams. He wonders if he should go make coffee for his hospitable acquaintance. What exactly was the proper etiquette for the morning after the night before, when the night before had been a drunken first encounter and not of the sexual kind? 

He thinks about it, then falls asleep.

This time when he wakes it’s because someone comes downstairs. The cat is gone from his chest, sunning herself on the floor in front of the window and watching the new arrival with little interest. Hangover or not, Bucky finds himself unreasonably cheerful to be waking up on this sofa instead of Natasha’s.

“I’m going to put a pot of coffee on, you want some?” Steve is smiling down at his guest like he just found a lottery ticket on the ground. 

Bucky pushes himself up into a sitting position and returns the smile with his own cocky grin. “I was going to make some for you actually. As a thanks for last night.” 

Last night may have been totally innocent but that last sentence didn’t sound like it. Bucky flushes slightly and hopes Steve doesn’t pick up on it.

“Without knowing where we keep the coffee? Guess you’ll have to find some other way to make it up to me.” Steve counters. 

He raises his eyebrows and pushes away from the doorframe he’d been leaning on, making his way into the kitchen. It only takes Bucky a second to remove the throw and follow him. He tries his best not to stare at his host’s ass as he does but happily fails. 

Steve doesn’t mention the screams. He makes coffee and small talk about Bucky’s party and does not mention the screams. Bucky isn’t sure if he’s grateful not to bring it up or disappointed that this blond specimen doesn’t care enough to ask. He chalks it down to politeness and tries not to think about it.

He’s just accepting a mug of coffee (black, two sugars) when a second person comes downstairs.

“Steve! Come on man you should know this by now, water and painkillers for the dude first. He’s gotta have a killer headache right now.” 

The newcomer is grinning broadly (and for a moment Bucky wonders if it’s infectious in this house) as he steps into the kitchen and claps Steve on the back. The taller man lets out a peculiar noise and dives into a cupboard. Steve’s housemate gives Bucky a jaunty salute and pulls himself up to sit on the work surface, waving Steve off when he protests.

“I’m Sam. Don’t mind Steve, he’s pretty forgetful about things like hangover cures. Comes with never getting them I guess.” His voice is teasing and light.

Steve swats at him but he’s smiling as he passes Bucky a pack of painkillers. 

“Never?” Bucky asks with a trace of envy as he knocks back a handful of tablets.

Shrugging, Steve picks up his coffee (with milk, no sugar) and takes a sip. “I’ll let you know when it happens.”

Smiling into his coffee cup, Bucky sits down at the small kitchen table. He likes the idea of keeping in contact with Steve, even if it was a joke. The cup warms his fingers pleasantly and he pretends the warmth of the drink is the only thing making his skin tingle. Over by the fridge, Steve is still only in his pyjama trousers, not even wearing a pair of slippers. 

“Okay then, eggs and bacon?” Sam asks.

Bucky blinks for a moment, the question not making sense after Steve’s last comment.

“Oh no, you said ‘fry up’. Loser doesn’t get to back out now.” Steve scolds.

Grumbling good naturedly, Sam drops off the work surface and pads over to the back of the kitchen door, where he retrieves an apron that says “Chicks love a cook” and boasts a few cartoon chickens at the bottom. Sam dons the apron with zeal and winks at Bucky before sauntering over to the fridge and pulling out everything he needs.

“What did you lose?” Bucky asks Sam’s back.

Steve answers for him. “Sam lost a bet this morning so his punishment is breakfast duty. Don’t worry,” he adds, “he deserves it for having no faith in me.”

“I have faith in _you_.” Sam insists as he washes his hands under the sink.

Rolling his eyes, Steve joins Bucky at the table. Bucky glances down as Steve’s leg bumps his own.

“What,” Bucky wets his lips and looks up at Steve, “What was the bet?”

This time it’s Sam that fills in for Steve. “Captain Faith over here bet me that you’d still be here when we woke up.” He chops two large mushrooms, “Oh and that you wouldn’t rob us blind.”

Bucky laughs and sets down his empty coffee cup. “And miss out on this breakfast? Not a chance.”

Beside him Steve joins in on his laughter.

“I seem to recall it was you who proposed that bet, Sam.” He chides.

Sam throws half a mushroom at him.

***

Once Sam had finished slaving away in the kitchen (his words) the three men gather around the uneven table with plates stacked high. Hangover or not, Sam’s cooking is amazing. Bucky makes sure to thank him no less than three times, adding that he hasn’t cooked a proper breakfast since a disaster with French toast. The conversation peters out into silence for a few minutes as they appreciate the food. As they chew, Bucky tries to guess at the relationship between the two men. Family is immediately ruled out seeing as they aren’t even the same ethnicity. That leaves friends or lovers. Maybe friends with benefits, Bucky thinks with a private smirk. Hey, he’d been there once.

It’s Sam that breaks the silence.

“Can’t help noticing the tags.” he prompts.

Bucky looks down at the dog tags hanging around his neck and gives them a fond smile. It falters a bit when he realises he’s still dressed for clubbing and must smell of both BO and drink. Pushing the thought away he says, “Army, couple of years now. Just got back from my last tour actually.”

Nodding, Sam chased a tomato around on his plate, “I was in the services too not long ago. That’s where I met this guy.” He gestures over at Steve.

“You’re military too?” Bucky asks, surprised.

“Yeah. Started off at art college though, if you’ll believe it.” 

Bucky shakes his head a little, wondering at the chances of them all being in the same line of work. He chews at his bacon thoughtfully. 

“So Sam, you said you got out? What’re you doing now?”

Sam’s face lights up and Bucky is immediately glad he asked. 

“I work down at the VA’s office, doing group work, therapy work, whatever they need. That place was real good to me when I hung up the uniform and I wanted to repay the debt. It’s not the same as actively saving lives like I used to, but this is rewarding in its own way. It’s another kind of saving.”

He’s so animated when he talks that for a moment all Bucky can do is watch, spellbound. He’d never really considered life post-army. He mentions this to Sam and an odd looks overcomes him.

“Maybe you could come down for a visit with me one day this week? Don’t get me wrong, but it could do you some good.”

Both Steve and Bucky frown in confusion. Steve abandons the remainder of his hash browns in favour of resting his chin in his hand and listening attentively. 

“What do you mean exactly?” Bucky mutters, eyes on his plate.

He hears Sam sigh quietly and he hesitates before replying. “I heard you yelling last night, man. Just like I used to. Steve wouldn’t have heard it, dude sleeps like the dead, but I did. Wasn’t sure what to do.”

Internally, Bucky relaxes a little hearing that Steve wasn’t aware of his nightmares. That quells his doubts about him at least. Bucky looks up and meets Sam’s gaze, “Sorry for waking you up twice in one night.” He says lamely.

Sam waves it off, explaining that he’s used to it from Steve too. Steve blushes as red as his tomatoes and Bucky briefly thinks he’d like to see that expression on his face a lot more.

They’re at a loss for conversation for a moment until the cat enters the room, meowing loudly.

“Someone missed out on her fry up.” Bucky jokes.

Steve calls her over sweetly, murmuring pet names and encouragement without so much as a second thought to the other men in the room. The cat weaves through the legs under the table and comes to a standstill between Steve and Bucky, meowing at the former all the way.

“Alright, Maria. I’m going, I’m going.”

Steve gets to his feet and goes to fetch a small plastic bowl from the work surface. He proceeds to fill it with a handful of biscuits from a cupboard and a third of a tin of cat food from the fridge. Bucky watches the whole thing with an easy smile on his face. 

“She’s a veteran pet.” Sam says, noticing Bucky’s gaze, “Most vets prefer dogs since they’re easier to train, but the big guy here is allergic to dogs.” 

Steve grins sheepishly, “As a kid I was always ill. Fevers, heart problems, asthma. I outgrew most of it but the allergies stuck.” 

His explanation is so forthright and easily given that Bucky almost forgets they were strangers less than 24 hours ago. Now he can’t imagine how he would have gotten by without knowing Sam, Steve and their cat.

They chat for a little while longer as Sam finishes up the remainders of everyone’s breakfast (“Next time you leave left overs will be the last time I cook for you!”). In doing so they discover that Natasha’s house is next door. She only moved in last month so it explains the mix up last night. Bucky also hears Sam mention a date he’s got tonight and that Steve should just eat the rest of the meatloaf without him. His stomach tightens pleasantly even as Steve complains that tonight is take out night. 

Finally Sam excuses himself, explaining that he’s planning on spending the afternoon at work and he really has to get going if he’s to arrive on time. He shakes Bucky’s hand before he leaves, thanking him for being the most well behaved guest they’d had thus far (drunk or not). Bucky gives him a winning grin in return, thanks him for the breakfast and offers to repay the favour some time. He watches Sam leave with the faint impression he’d made a friend for life.

“Does your friend Natasha know you’re here?” Steve asks suddenly, drawing Bucky’s attention back onto him. He’s still by the bowl of cat food in the kitchen, a fresh cup of coffee in his hands.

Bucky winces at the realisation, “No, she doesn’t. She was expecting me at hers last night and now I’ll have to put up with her wrath for not calling to say I’m okay. Oh man, she’s going to curse at me in Russian, I know it.”

The idea of having to leave Steve’s place and go back into the real world is an unwelcome one. He’d been thoroughly enjoying his morning swapping war stories and taking turns to pet the cat – Maria. 

“I guess I should go tell her everything is alright.”

Steve nods but he doesn’t look happy to be saying goodbye either. “I guess I’ll see you around the neighbourhood?” He put his drink down, “Don’t go stumbling into any more houses. Not everyone is as welcoming as me and Sam.”

Bucky chuckles at that, scratching the back of his neck with embarrassment. When Steve puts it like that it’s almost tempting to turn up at their door again by ‘mistake’. “Yeah, so,” he hedges, “Before I go, I guess I owe you. Both for breakfast and last night.”

Steve opens his mouth, probably to tell Bucky not to sweat it, but Bucky continues regardless.

“Maybe you’d consider it even if I took you to dinner tomorrow night?”

There’s a wickedly handsome smile on Steve’s face. Bucky doesn’t even have time to feel nervous before Steve slyly says, “I’d consider it a start.”

For a second Bucky knows it’s the perfect moment for a first kiss but even as he steps forward Steve takes his hand and presses his lips to the back of it. Heart aflutter, Bucky decides there and then that he’d do whatever Steve wanted, if only to feel those lips one more time.


	2. Video tapes, baseball bats and Nerf guns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later

“Where do you want the box marked “Steve’s art supplies”?” Bucky asks, grunting under the weight of the large cardboard box in his arms.

Steve pops his head around a door and considers it for a moment. The box cuts red lines into Bucky’s arms just above his elbow and he tries to look like he’s not about to drop hundreds of dollars worth of equipment on the floor.

"By all means, Stevie, take your time."

“Put it over by the vase Sam’s grandma gave us, please.”

Shifting his grip fractionally, Bucky staggers the last few steps over to the aforementioned vase and deposits the box with a quiet sigh. He pushes himself up to his full height and onto his tiptoes as he stretches out the ache in his back and shoulders. He wishes he could ignore the trickle of sweat running down his spine. From behind him, he can hear his boyfriend enjoying the view with an appreciative hum.

“Less staring, more unloading.” he calls over his shoulder.

Steve laughs that full belly laugh Bucky loves. He turns and they both go down the stairs together, bumping and jostling each other’s shoulders in a playful fashion. Steve beats him to the removal van and grabs two boxes in one go, smiling broadly when Bucky calls him a show off. He grabs a box marked “Sam’s books” and takes it inside.

The van is nearly empty now; most of their furniture and boxes are piled high in the appropriate rooms. This was their third vanload and it had taken hours to get this far. Despite the summer hours affording them extra daylight, the sun is setting over the city and bathing their new home in warm reds and oranges. It would be serene if it wasn’t so dark. The house stands gloomy in the sunset, sulking over the fact that the previous owners took the light bulbs with them.

Bucky shoulders open the door to Sam’s room and stacks the box on top of a tower in the corner. The man himself is nowhere to be seen, though hopefully he’s gone to the shops to pick up light bulbs, curtain hooks and bin liners. It seems none of the three men has much experience when it comes to moving house, so things are quite disoriented and they’re missing a few essentials. 

Five boxes, four chairs and a bin bag full of bedding later, Steve and Bucky have cleared the removal van. Bucky offers to take it back to the firm and Steve hands over the keys to his motorbike.

“I parked her in the main parking lot next to a red mini. Shouldn’t be too hard to find her. My helmet is in the box on the back.”

Bucky waves him off with a grin and a kiss, promising to wear the helmet and keep to the speed limit. He climbs into the front seat of the van and tunes the radio to a classic rock station before pulling out of the driveway. 

Less than an hour later he’s tearing down the street on Steve’s bike with a giddy grin concealed beneath the helmet. He feels the powerful engine underneath him yearn to get back to its owner. Bucky slows, flicks the indicators and he turns into the driveway before coming to a halt. He’s been driving with the headlight on and without it he’s suddenly aware of how dark it is. The house is a black silhouette in front of him, meaning Sam hasn’t returned yet.

Turning his key in the latch, Bucky lets himself in and calls into the building, “Strip-o-gram for an S. Rogers!”

There’s a noise upstairs that sounds suspiciously like someone falling off a bed. “In our room.” comes the reply.

Bucky dumps the helmet and takes the stairs two at a time. He's hardly out of breath when he enters his and Steve’s new bedroom. The room is a rectangle of darkness punctuated only by the streetlight coming in through the windows and the torch in Steve’s hand. He sits cross-legged on their bed, hunched over a small plastic box. The position makes the denim of his jeans strain around the crotch area and Bucky deliberately looks away at the hoodie he’s wearing instead. 

When Steve sees Bucky, he beckons him over and pulls out a few items.

“I was going through some boxes and found this.” he says by way of explanation. 

Bucky perches on the edge of the bed (which is unmade and covered in bags of clothing save for Steve’s spot) and leans closer until his forehead is almost touching Steve’s. In the blond’s hand are tens of movie ticket stubs. Bucky recognises the titles of them all as films they’d seen together and he realises Steve must have kept them. Sentimental idiot. His fingers ghost over Steve’s and he searches for the right thing to say. Instead, he glances around and sees the box that the plastic one must have come from. It’s full of things that tie them together: Photo albums containing the pair of them on vacation and during the holidays; A toy Bucky had won at a shooting game at the fair for Steve; The spine of a cook book that marked their first disastrous attempt at cooking together. The items crowd together inside a few flimsy scraps of cardboard and together they add up to a year unlike any Bucky could have imagined for himself.

Emotion bubbles up inside Bucky and he pursues his lips to stop it escaping. In the torch light his eyes sparkle and he grabs Steve’s chin without warning, angling it up into a tender but firm kiss. The tickets drop from Steve’s hand and he reaches up to wind his arms around Bucky’s neck. He gives as good as he gets, breaking the kiss only when he can’t stop smiling.

“How did this happen?” Bucky wonders quietly, mouthing at Steve’s jaw, “How did we end up here?”

It’s a rhetorical question spoken through wonder rather than true desire for an answer, but Steve gives him a response anyway, “If you mean the house, we can chalk that down to a binding legal contract and an agreement to part with our cash. If you mean us, I believe we can thank vodka tonics, my cat and your awful sense of direction.”

“Hey, I was only one house out!” Bucky protests, nipping at Steve’s lower lip.

Laughing, Steve pushes him away and stands up. “Come on soldier, lots to do before Sam gets back.”

“What do you _think_ I was doing?” says Bucky with a lewd grin, but he gets to his feet.

There’s so much to do that for a moment neither one of them knows where to begin. Being restricted to one torch doesn’t help either, so they end up unpacking one box at a time together. For the most part they work in a comfortable silence, tired by the day’s events. Occasionally they comment on each other’s possessions in an effort to get one over on the other. Bucky scores major points when he discovers that Steve still owns a few battered video tapes and he gets a few glorious moments of calling his boyfriend “an old soul” and asking “if grandpa wants me to get his slippers and fetch a pipe?”. He gets a jab in the rib for his teasing and an under the breath mutter that sounds suspiciously like “-makes you a grandpa fucker.” 

Bucky also finds Steve’s baseball bat and says “Hey isn’t that the bat you threatened me with when we first met?”. Steve protests that he didn’t threaten him, not really. It was a non-verbal threat, useless in a court of law. Bucky mimes a swing at Steve’s ass before stowing it under the bed. 

Steve’s favourite find is in the third box when he retrieves two Nerf guns belonging to Bucky.

“Becca and I used to play with these all the time as kids. It would drive our old man up the wall, especially when we turned them on him.” Bucky runs his fingers over the brightly coloured plastic, “It’s probably what made me such a good aim for the army. Huh. Never really thought about it.”

He looks up with a sad expression when Steve rubs his back sympathetically. They hadn’t spoken much about Bucky’s time with the army, even when he came home one night and told Sam and Steve that he had given in his resignation. The silence drags on a little too long this time. 

Outside, a faint whistling tune carries up to the bedroom window. Bucky, glad for an excuse to change the topic, gets up and looks out.

“It’s Sam.” he confirms. 

He feels Steve come up behind him and hopes he doesn’t ask if Bucky wants to talk about it. The army, his childhood, any of it. Instead, Steve presses the second Nerf gun into his hands and gestures silently at the window, finger on his lips. Bucky gets his meaning immediately and reaches for the latch.

*

It’s with no warning that ex-soldier Sam Wilson is ambushed on his way to the front door. For a split second he thinks the bullets raining down around him are real. He almost drops the bags in his hands to get to the door faster but calms when he hears the running commentary of the two grown men in the upstairs window. A bullet hits him in the cheek and bounces off, harmless.

“Ten points!” comes the excited whoop of James Barnes.

“You could have gotten him in the eye! Minus points for reckless shooting.” 

Sam takes cover under the porch and tries not to roll his eyes at Steve bringing rules into play. He fumbles for his keys and opens the door. Already the men seem to have forgotten him and he can hear them bickering good naturedly above him. Something that sounds like “-no rules in combat, soldier!” is followed by the sound of a toy gun being shot. Steve screams “Friendly fire!” and Sam hears him bounding across the floorboards, laughing loudly and pursued by Bucky (if the creaking is anything to go by).

He elects to ignore them both and avoid the upstairs part of the house for as long as possible. Shopping bags in hand, he steps into the living room and dumps everything but his phone. Using the light of its lock screen, he navigates his way back into the hall and down into the basement where he switches off the power. Within seconds he’s back in the living room and is screwing a bulb into place, not even needing a chair to stand on. 

He works his way through the house, whistling softly as he does. The work is easy even in the dark and he’s entertained by his housemates upstairs. They’ve quieted down now but there’s still the occasional burst of colourful swearing as one of them bumps into something in the dark or steps on the others foot. He suddenly stuck by the thought that he’s very glad Steve found someone to make him laugh like that. Of course, there were consequences of living with a couple, but so far it was worth it – not that he would tell them that. 

Above him, he hears Bucky say something and the whole house damn near shakes as Steve explodes. Sam wonders what the joke was.

*

“Maybe Nat will help us unpack.” 

Even as he said it, Bucky knew she won’t. He’s lying on his back in defeat and staring up at the ceiling, though he may as well be looking at the inside of his eyelids for all the difference it makes. Without looking he knows they’re not halfway through the boxes in their bedroom and they haven’t even started on the other rooms. The whole thing seems hopeless. 

“We don’t want a repeat of Sam.” Steve reminds Bucky with a chuckle. 

“It’s his fault for unpacking our boxes!”

“Hey Steve,” Steve imitates Sam’s voice nearly perfectly, “Did you buy Maria a new collar?”

Bucky sits up and shrieks, “It wasn’t until you damn near tackled him and cried “SAM DON’T TOUCH THAT!” that he got it. Oh man his _face_.”

“I didn’t shout it that loud! You were the one who went bright red anyway.”

Throw his chest out and owning it, Bucky replies, “Damn straight, he was touching my stuff.”

Steve howls with laughter, clutching at his sides and streaming tears. The image of Sam holding Bucky’s leather collar will be forever seared into his memory. The hilarity of the situation burns away any shame he might have felt at his housemate discovering his sex toys. 

“We should probably go downstairs,” Steve says when he can catch his breath, “Natasha will be here soon.”

Bucky makes an agreeable noise and gets to his feet, wincing as he does. He’s sore and aching all over but tries not to show it as he gives Steve a hand up. Despite the late hour and the fact that neither of them had stopped to eat all day, Bucky doesn’t feel hungry. Exhaustion pulls at him but he fights it for a little longer.

They make their way to the top of the stairs and cheer when they see the downstairs rooms awash in artificial light.

“I really need a shower, think we have time before Natasha gets here?” Steve asks.

Bucky merely leans over and licks Steve’s neck, grinning as Steve calls him gross and shoves him away with a lazy laugh. He races down the stairs, out of Bucky’s reach.

“Alright, no shower yet.” he says, cheeks flushing. 

They find Sam in the living room setting up the TV. 

“Are you gonna shoot me again or can I get on with this?” he calls over his shoulder.

Bucky and Steve crash on the sofa with tired groans and that’s answer enough. With nothing else to do, they watch him lean over the back of the TV and fiddle with a mess of cables. Almost at the same time the pair wolf whistle and Sam (without turning around) flips them off.

Fidgeting slightly, Bucky worms his head under Steve’s arm and pillows his head on Steve’s chest. He listens to the steady thrum of Steve’s heartbeat and feels it pick up when Steve wraps an arm around Bucky. The strong smell of Steve’s sweat fills his nose in a delicious rush and Bucky hopes Steve notices that he leans into it. His eyes close. He’s content to fall asleep there and then with his feet stretched out on the sofa and his upper body supported by a warm, comfortable mass. The effect is slightly ruined when Sam runs into trouble.

“Does the scart lead go into the DVD player?” 

The question isn’t addressed to either of them and neither knows the answer so they stay quiet. There are some angry whispered curses but it’s hard to focus on that when Steve is drawing something with his finger on Bucky’s chest.

“Holy balls, there are _two_ places to plug it into the TV, which is it?!”

Bucky thinks it might be a cat. His mouth curls up as he thinks of their cat Maria, safely at Natasha’s place for the next few days whilst the boys get the house straightened up. He misses her already and hopes that she’s being sufficiently pampered in her absence. Steve adds whiskers to his chest canvas and Bucky is certain.

“A cat,” he says, earning himself a peck on the lips.

“We need a cat flap.” Steve hums.

Sam takes a moment between the stream of curses to add, “Yeah, can’t just go about leaving windows open at night. Who knows what might crawl in?”.

If Bucky weren’t so tired, he likes to think he would have thrown his shoe at Sam.

“Why’re you so desperate to set the TV up tonight, bird brain? Can’t it wait?”

Bucky considers “bird brain” a sufficient enough insult to respond with. Underneath him, Steve’s chest quakes a little.

“There’s a show on tonight he wants to watch. What was it again, Sam? That bird documentary?” 

The teasing tone in Steve’s voice is no doubt paired with a look of supreme innocence, something Bucky doesn’t need to open his eyes to know.

“Hahaha, fuck you. What’s this lead for? Wait, this is coming from the _wall_. Oh I’m done. I quit. Wilson out.” Sam cries.

There’s a loud noise and heavy footsteps as Sam retreats from his superior foe. Bucky wonders if he’s broken anything but it still doesn’t seem important enough to muster the energy and open his eyes for. Steve is saying something to Sam but his voice is so far away and Bucky’s bones are so weary…

*

He wakes up to Sam yelling “Oh god! What was that?” and Natasha answering “Sorry. Wrong light switch.”. 

Rubbing his eyes, Bucky sits up and takes in his surroundings. Steve is on his feet by the door, somehow having managed to extract himself from his napping boyfriend. His hair is damp and his shirt is fresh. The traitor. He’s taking a six pack of beer off Natasha and ushering her into the living room. She drops onto the sofa next to Bucky and gives Sam a little wave over in his arm chair.

“You can really smell the testosterone in this house full of soldiers.” she greets.

Bucky makes a show of sniffing the air then leaning closer to his friend. He gags and waves his hand under his nose, exclaiming “You’re not helping it.”

The observation earns him a punch in the arm. Without thinking about it, he sits back in the sofa and allows Natasha to sit sideways, resting her legs over Bucky’s and leaving her feet dangerously close to his hands. Experience tells him not to touch Natasha’s feet with anything that even resembles a tickle so he stows his hands into the pockets of the over large hoodie he’s draped in. It takes him a moment to realise that Steve must have put it on his shoulders when he was sleeping.

Over in the corner Steve hands a beer to Sam as the latter grumbles good naturedly. He says if Natasha hadn’t lived next door Bucky wouldn’t have found his way to their door step and Sam wouldn’t be missing his show right now. It’s not a serious comment but Bucky and Sam get along best when they pretend not to care for each other. Steve is unable to act like that and rises to the defence of either man each time. This time he points out that their landlord wanted them out anyway and Bucky had needed a cheaper place to live.

“Come on, Sam. I know you’re not a man of God, but it was fate of some kind.” he insists with child-like certainty.

“I think what Steve means is that it was vodka of some kind.” corrects Natasha.

Steve not-so-accidentally overlooks her on the beer hand outs and passes the next one to Bucky, who gleefully keeps it out of Natasha’s reach.

“Technically it wasn’t your door step I ended up on anyway, but I’m truly sorry that my happiness got in the way of your documentary.” 

Natasha springs to her feet and leaps from the sofa onto Steve’s back as he holds the remaining beers aloft. She startles a choked off squawk out of him and climbs him like a monkey to reach her prize. Before he can do anything, she’s back on the sofa with a can at her lips. 

Bucky and Sam burst into a chorus of laughter at poor Steve’s expression as he sinks down to perch on the arm of the sofa. After nearly a year of knowing Natasha, he should have known better than to stand between her and a drink. 

“You did your best, babe.” Bucky commiserates with a shake of his head and a pull on his drink.

Over the top of Natasha’s head, Steve looks down at him with a bemused expression. Bucky knew it well. It adorns his face when he looks into mirrors nowadays and sees the man he’s become. It is a look that speaks of sudden change and an underlying happiness that comes from a stable foundation. Bucky looks at Steve and sees the future they might have written in the lines of his eyes and the pull of his mouth. He sees the same glow he wears on a daily basis, now no longer created by the haze of alcohol but by real, true fulfilment.

Steve smiles at him and Bucky knows their future is as merged together as the objects they’ve yet to unpack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by the actual moving I did last weekend with my family. Things such as previous owners taking the light bulbs and Sam's TV troubles are all based on real scenarios. 
> 
> Find me over on tumblr as thecompanionintraining

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who left a comment on "Mission: Get To Base". This wouldn't have happened without your support and kind words. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at thecompanionintraining


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